The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious #2)(18)

“What needle?”

“The clones slapped something over Olivia’s face and then they stuck a needle into her shoulder when she tried to get out of the car. Just like they did to me when they took me away.”

A hypodermic syringe, Catalina thought, the same type of weapon that had been used to murder a stranger fifteen years earlier in the Fogg Lake caves. It had to be a coincidence. Drugs were obviously an easy way to subdue a captive. There couldn’t possibly be a connection to the murder in the caves.

“Marge,” she whispered, bracing herself for the worst possible answer to her next question, “I know you can see auras. Do you think those people in the black car murdered Olivia?”

“I could see her energy through the car window when they drove off. She was still alive, but …”

“What, Marge?”

“It looked like she was going to sleep,” Marge said. “She’ll wake up in hell. Just like I did.”





CHAPTER 6


Catalina was halfway back to the office, walking fast, when her phone vibrated. She yanked it out of the pocket of her coat and glanced at the screen. Daniel.

“Please tell me you’ve got a lead on Olivia,” she said.

“Nothing yet, but you need to get back here now.”

“Almost there. Why? What happened?”

“There’s someone here to see you. Says it’s urgent. Says it’s about Olivia.”

“Put him on the phone,” Catalina said.

“Hang on,” Daniel said.

The voice that came on the line was masculine, eerily calm, cool and controlled. It was, she concluded, the kind of voice that could lead you out of a burning building. It was also a voice that, under the right circumstances, could scare the living daylights out of you.

“My name is Slater Arganbright,” he said.

“Oh, shit,” Catalina whispered.

“I realize you’ve got some history with my uncle. We can talk about that later. Right now we’ve got other priorities. I understand your business partner, Olivia LeClair, is missing.”

Okay, so she had been on the verge of calling Victor Arganbright. It was one thing to put in a call for help. It was something else entirely to discover that someone from the Foundation was already on the scene. That information left two gut-wrenching possibilities: either Victor Arganbright had known that Olivia was in danger and had failed to warn her in advance, or his so-called Foundation was behind the kidnapping.

“Did Victor Arganbright’s thugs take Olivia?” she said. It was all she could do not to scream into the phone. “Because I swear, if you harm her, I will find a way to destroy your Foundation, even if it takes me the rest of my life.”

“No, we didn’t take your friend,” Slater said. “And for the record, my uncle doesn’t employ thugs. Just people like me.”

It wasn’t the denial that brought her to a stunned halt in the middle of the sidewalk. She had been prepared for that. It was highly unlikely that anyone in his right mind would admit to a serious crime like kidnapping, especially not while he was speaking on the phone. For all Slater Arganbright knew, she was recording his words.

It was the incredibly unemotional way he spoke that stopped her cold. His voice sounded far too flat, unnaturally so. There should have been some heat in the denial; a hint of outrage, at the very least. After all, she had just pulled out a verbal jackknife by virtually accusing him, or at least his uncle, of a major federal crime.

“How did you know Olivia was kidnapped?” she said. She still sounded fierce and accusatory. She did not give a damn. She was dealing with an Arganbright.

Whose help she might need.

Damn, damn, damn. Shit.

That was the third time she had used the word shit in the past few minutes. Her language was deteriorating rapidly. That was probably not a good sign. Control, Catalina. You must exercise control.

“When I walked into your office a few minutes ago your receptionist said you were out looking for your friend,” Slater explained in his eerily uninflected voice. “I was told no one appears to have seen or heard from Ms. LeClair since late yesterday. Considering that I came to Seattle to ask you and Olivia for some professional assistance, it’s unlikely that her disappearance today is a coincidence.”

Still no emotion in the words. Just flat statements of facts. Or flat-out lies. There was no way to be sure. It was as if she was talking to a robot.

Two could play that game.

“What do you want, Arganbright?” she asked, trying to channel her inner Philip Marlowe. She was a private investigator, after all. She even had a trench coat, and she was wearing it today. It was a very stylish trench. Olivia had given it to her when they embarked on their new business venture.

“We can talk about why I’m here in Seattle when we meet,” Slater said. “We shouldn’t be having this conversation on the phone.”

With an effort of will, Catalina forged through the small trance she had plunged into when she heard the Arganbright name. She lurched forward, once again walking as swiftly as possible, almost trotting.

“I’m on my way back to my office,” she said. “Stay right where you are, Arganbright. Don’t make a move or I swear I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re responsible for the disappearance of my friend. I’m sure the Foundation has some good lawyers who will be able to keep you out of jail, but I’ll make damn certain that the Arganbright name is all over the media before Victor can make me shut up. And what’s more, I’ll mention that little private lab he’s operating there in Las Vegas.”